Five Times John Watson Said He Wasn't Gay
by Hedgehogs and Tea
Summary: ...and the one time he didn't. Also known as "all those times John made an ass of himself and the one time he accepted it" Eventual Johnlock. /Complete and oops I accidentally sort of M chapter. Nothing graphic, just mentions. Oh and kissing. Lots and lots of kissing.
1. Chapter 1

'The Brother'

a.k.a. that time John got really familiar with the back of the bike sheds.

Now let me make it very clear; every time he denied his homosexuality you can think of it being similar to walking the plank on a sinking ship. He ends up being in the water, and acknowledged to be gay, and exercises he partook in to go out in style were completely futile.

I know what the point of my writing is, but bear with me. We'll get there, so I'm going to tell you a story within a story. We begin when he was at the ripe young age of 14. In secondary school, he was popular. Everyone has the brief stint at being within the top group and some, like John, decide they don't like it, and step down, to the level of the rest of us mere mortals. Well, in John's case, the top dogs treated everyone else as if they didn't have a place breathing the same air as them.

Let's start half way through the beginning. Ordinary Wednesdays, you know the like. Half way through the week; 'if this week/term/year/life doesn't get any better I'm going to murder someone'? So picture it, John, plotting a triple homicide while walking down a corridor. In said corridor there are Year 7's spitting and laughing and crying and whatever Year 7's did to fill their spare time. To be honest, I think everyone's blocked that first horrifically awkward year from their minds, so you can't blame me for not knowing what they were doing. To be even more honest, everything about these weeks were stupendously awkward and creepily hot. Now John's wondering if he could get away with bashing a few of the tiny, Year 7 heads in. You know, only the really small annoying ones. And their friends. And their friend's friends. And maybe their brother. Anyway, he's on the brink of turning his backpack into an improvised weapon, when Jane? Jay? Jade! Her name was Jade, called to him "Hey John! Wanna go to a party tonigh'?" Because really, don't tell me you pronounced all your words correctly when you were 14. Not all the time. That's just ridiculous. And John, hoping that this was his chance to turn his week, term, year and life around, accepted.

Hit the fast forward button, and we're at the party-thing. More of a 'let's break into my dad's alcohol cupboard and drink everything with all my friends and _not tell him. _Ever.' Okay so John was feeling a bit out of place... More than usual fourteen-year-olds do. He wasn't used to drinking, or blatantly breaking rules like this. But then again, he was young. And very open to peer pressure. So he rather openly agreed to a game of spin-the-bottle.

The game started off great, amazing even. He watched some girls kiss, watched his best friend kiss a girl that wasn't his girlfriend (his friend would have a cut on his face from the slap he received for some days post the party. Teenagers can be vicious) and several more scandals occur. It's amazing what mischief a bottle can cause. And then it was John's turn. It wasn't his first kiss, but his first and second and third's were those beautifully awkward adolescent kisses with far too pursed lips and a little bump and a layer of slightly cute awkward coating every move. His first at the party was just a little press of lips with a cute girl who he'd always liked. Her smile made her blue eyes quirk up and flash green. Several more span the bottle, and a few more than several bottles of alcohol disappeared. John giggled like a five year old, and bagged his second turn. The bottle span, and span, and span and seriously it felt like it wasn't going to stop and John had nearly combusted of awkward and THEN it landed on the host's elder brother. He was tall with dark hair and pale skin and brown eyes. (Later, John would realise the uncanny resemblance to Sherlock. Except in teenage form. And drunk. And Scottish.) This boy was 17 or something and it was over before it started because he'd leaned over and dragged John up and smashed their lips together and for the three seconds that happened it was hot and rushed and _John's best kiss ever, so far_ and then the young host grabbed his brother and dragged him back. A few words were hissed, including _'you weren't invited-he's mine! You know how I feel about him. Back off and go hide in your closet'_ but John was far too drunk on lips and fumes and cheap vodka to notice what was said.

The next episode is what really makes up the first time he said he wasn't gay, for the next day all party-goers were nursing headaches and promising never to drink on weekdays. Except for John who'd actually hadn't drank that much. Well, the encounter happened after the bell had rung (and made every party-goer want to pull their ears off) behind the bike sheds. Yeah, I know. Clichéd, isn't it? But then again the reasons clichés become clichéd is because people do them.

So John's retrieving his bike.  
And the host's brother is there.  
And he drags John behind the shed.  
What happens after is the hottest moment of John's life until he's 17 and meets Frank, but that's a story for another time. The other time being Chapter Three.  
John was shoved up against the back wall, and a very warm, very sexy, very male body covered his. A thigh was between his legs and he's propped up by hands on his shoulders, and said thigh between his legs. The host's brother's (I never got his name, and apparently John only met him these two times. Lust at first sight, me thinks) lips are softer this time, and this is John's first snog, so the brother dominates, leading John straight to arousal, his tongue slipping around John's mouth and one of the only things John remembers is how talented that tongue was. Just as the grinding begins, the excess party-goers round the corner to go to the bike shed. The two concealed behind stop their frantic grinding and snogging to listen. The group walking past laugh and talk in slightly hushed voices, and every so often one will yell 'OI! Headache. Stop yelling.' And they continue. Just as John and the mystery brother think they are in the clear, one drops a... thing. A coin or a ball or something, it was forgotten as they sighed; 'Shiiiiiiiiit' and walked around the shed to collect it. And then stop dead as they see John pinned against the wall with the older brother still beneath him. They drop apart as the person, who by a stroke of 'luck', happens to be the host... And let's say he's not entirely that pleased. He stops, stares, and yells;  
"JOHN what are you DOING that's my BROTHER why would you... ugggghhhhhhhhhh-"*stomp stomp stomp*"-AHHR!" *smack*

Riiiight.  
That didn't make sense did it?  
"JOHN what are you DOING-" eyes widen and arms flail,  
"-that's my BROTHER-" eyes widen further as host (Andy) realises his brother had done exactly what he didn't want him to,  
"-why would you-" complete and utter confusion,  
"-...uggghhhhhhhhhhh-" Welcome back, headache!  
*stomp stomp stomp* Andy could be sassily angry when he wants to be. And that boy could _stomp,  
_"-AHHR!" he turns his brother to face him fully andddd,  
*smack*

Actually it should be

*smACK* because, wow. Andy also got really, really angry.

Um yeah, if you didn't get that, he punched his brother.

And all John had to say about it was;

"I'm not gay."

And, well. The worst thing he could say, because the party-goer-onlookers all burst out laughing, (and then immediately regretted it, wincing and punching each other for being too loud) as did the older brother who eyed him, leaned forward and whispered in his ear _'if you're not gay, then I've never kissed someone who is' _and Andy's eyes were filling up with tears. John was scarlet, Andy was trying desperately not to cry and the brother had stalked off, his arse swaying rather fantastically, as John noted. Of course, Andy saw that and decided it would be better to run away than cry in front of John.

And from then on John's popularity jumped down the drain.  
He fell to the bottom and stayed there. It was nice there, he had decided. His friends liked him and it was much less stress than being with 'the populars.' That is, until the second 'I'm not gay!' encounter. It involved Andy, and let's just say, there's a reason Andy's name is the only one John remembers.

**A/N: Six chapters. One every two days. I want to say thank you to everyone who's favourited, followed, reviewed and even just read my work. I started writing earlier this month and the amount of support I've had has been ridiculous, I love you all! Thank you a thousand times! (:**

**I hope you enjoy this fic set, it's been niggling round the back of my brain for a while and I finally decided to write it, because everyone's been writing a 'five times' fic and the 'I'm not gay' line is a favourite :3 Cookies for whoever spots the fall out boy quote ;D**

**All mistakes are my own, unbeta'd, unedited because I'm lazy;)**

**I'm also rubbish at consistency so chances are I'll finish writing this one before writing more Demons... but I can upload two at a time:D **

**Love, hugs, hedgehogs and tea.**


	2. The Other Brother

The Other Brother

Um, no. John didn't go and kiss all of Andy siblings to make him jealous.  
He kissed the older one.  
And his sister.  
And then the other brother.  
Which was Andy.

John's just turned sixteen and its exam week. His head feels like it might blow up. He's trying to do his revision and he can't tell any more, whether the glances and covert smiles he's getting are flirtatious or friendly. He can't tell which people are smiling at him in the flirtatious way which means he still doesn't have a date to prom.

Mostly because he's getting them from both genders.

And the one that's most likely to accept is one of his own gender.

So let's go into movie mode and fast forward to the week before prom.  
He's getting incredibly desperate, so he does the unthinkable and just asks that one girl who won't be going with anyone.  
"Hey, Jade. You got a date for prom?"  
"No." She looks sad. She always looks sad now - a - days. That's probably the reasons he doesn't have a date and it makes John, ever the gentleman, sick to see.  
"Great. Will you go to prom with me?" She looks up at him from her position, sat back on her heels on the floor.  
"You're serious?" She looks so scared and hopeful.  
"Yeah! I don't have a date, and it would be great if we could go together." Jade stares at him and smiles. It takes a while for her to build it up, she's had this pulled on her before, and it didn't end well. The guy had a plaster on his nose at that moment. She had a fearsome left hook. The guy's nose would never be straight again. Neither would the guy, but this is about John, not Seb. Jade leans back against the wall, and they sit together for the rest of the break.

Yeah, so now you know John was always stupidly kind, but his real kicks always came from danger, as the stint behind the bike sheds two years ago proved.

Let's go into fast forward mode again. John and Jade turn up, walking. They're holding hands and smiling, because they were friends before and never really noticed each other. Jade didn't find out about Andy. Until later... About a year and a half into their relationship, but by that time she was trying to get out, anyway and it was just an excuse to leave. But neither of them know that at this moment. They're both on top of the world. Prom passes uneventfully, the couple sitting in the corner, talking, eating and dancing once before deciding neither are that good, and the music is terrible, other than the one 'The Clash' song they got up to dance to. Halfway through, John's scanning the crowd, and he catches Andy's eye. Andy is staring at him with real heat in his eyes. They're like lasers across the room. It feels like he's leaning on John, claiming him with the intensity of his gaze. John feels a spark of heat shoot down his spine, and right on cue, Jade drags him towards the photo booth. In all of them, John knows he looks slightly aroused and a bit slimy, like one of those extremely stereotypical cocky Italians, who's arm never leaves the shoulders of a woman's, that is, until he has her on his lap. When they leave the booth, Andy is nowhere to be seen. John's about to faint or possibly punch someone (he was a rather violent teenager) so he exits the hall out the rear entrance, and walks around the gardens for a while, to calm himself down, repress his hormones and forget about Andy. Let me just re-enforce, at this time, John doesn't believe himself to be gay, or straight. He views himself as open minded. Pansexual, I guess. Doesn't have a preference, just a heck load of hormones. He sits on a bench and pus his head in his hands before he sees the figure watching him from the archway.

"That tux looks good on you."

The 'good' was heavily enunciated. It was obvious he meant 'fucking spectacular' or maybe 'but better on the floor.'

The sentence startled John, who jumps and stares- just stares at the figure under the arch, whom he hadn't seen approaching. John wasn't much of a self-promoter. He knew he wasn't a gargoyle, but he wasn't overly happy about his appearance, either. To be fair, John looked _stunning_ that night. Not stunning as in the 'oh you're alright so I'll say this to spare your feelings' way, or even the 'wow he looks good' way, but the 'I forgot what I was going to say because that perso-TELL ME WHO HE IS WHAT IS HIS NUMBER IS HE SINGLE' kind of way. Andy looked pretty good, too. He was similar to his brother in appearance, except slightly shorter and bulkier. His shoulders were wider and his arms more muscular, but he was still on the upside of six foot. They shared the face structure, but Andy's nose was longer and his eyes a pale blue, almost grey with a hint of purple.

Anyway, John jumped and looked up and Andy, whose predatory look had found a way back to his eyes, and inflicted it on John, full force. A shudder similar to the one before, except amplified, ran through his body. That stare made him react far too much. Andy walked- no, strutted with a twist of his hips that was uncanny in its resemblance to his brother's, over to John, where he proceeded to stand with his legs apart, a whisper away from John's knees. John's about to run away or snog him senseless. At this moment he's forgotten about Jade, which is a good thing. In terms of his progress towards acceptance, anyway. He pushes himself into the seat, as far as he can go. Andy follows him, his hand moving forwards, allowing his fingers to trickle along John's throat, tracing the line of his collar, before Andy kneels with a leg either side of John, his finger slipping under the knot of the tie. John is currently sitting rod-straight, unsure how to react.  
"Relax..." Andy leans forward and his breath ghosts the shell of the other teen's ear as he sighs the word. His lips brush over John's jaw and he bends his head to let his teeth scrape John's neck. A stab of arousal pulses through John, and once he has come to his senses his hands are on either side of Andy's waist. John is the one that initiates the kiss, pulling his head back, and nudging Andy's up with his chin, from where he was mouthing at John's neck. Their lips press together and it's innocent, almost endearing, before Andy lets loose his desires of the past three years. He presses harder, his hand coming around John's head to rest at the base of his skull, threading through the hairs there. A tongue presses at the seam of another's lips, and Andy arches, a small moan escaping his throat. He relaxes back into John's lap, where John proceeds to pull him down, his back bending in a feminine shape as John pushes up into him. Things are just getting interesting when a small cough interrupts them. John pulls back and turns his head to look at the girl. It's Andy's date, and she's frowning.

"Andy? Jade's gonna be so upset..."

John's eyes widen. He'd forgotten about Jade. And then he remembers where he is. Underneath a really quite attractive guy, on a bench, in a darkened garden, at prom. And he was finding it hard to care that he was meant to be here with his girlfriend.

"Andy, she's been upset for weeks. When you told me you were gonna go for it, you should have said who it was... "  
"Jade'll get over it. They've only been going out a few weeks." Andy's voice was unusually husky.

That sentence got to John, though. Nobody but John decides what John's going to inflict on his romantic attachment. At that moment, Jade looked like a more attractive partner than Andy. Even though Andy kissed better, John knew Jade.

"I'm not gay."

Andy looked at him and let out a small snort-chuckle.

"That's what you told my brother. Look at you now..." Andy grinned at him, and it was pure mischief. John nearly grinned back. Nearly. Instead he glared at Andy, and pushed him back, off of him.

He started walking back into Prom, before turning back, looking at them and asking;

"Don't tell Jade."

It was more of a command.

While Andy may have been bitter, he wasn't an ass.

Andy tells Jade a year and a half later.

**A/N: Posting this a day early because I love you, Ju Lara. **

**Shamelessly putting in references to my favourite 80s bands.(;**

**Tell me what you think, what you want to see? Smut, fluff, angst, humour? I have no imagination without prompts, and if you tell me what you want, there's a bigger chance you'll get it! Reviews mean faster updates!**


	3. Frank

Frank

17 years old and John had turned into an attractive, attentive, articulate young man, and that's barely beginning the a's. He was doing well in his studies, and planning to go use the military to find a way around the lack of funds. His academic life was going great, and he was highly esteemed among his friends. The only thing that was failing was his relationship. As said before, Jade was looking for outs, and the ammunition came to her in the form of Andy.

Andy hosted yet another party because, wow. That boy's parties were to die for. At said party, which was actually a party this time, John attended with Jade. Andy's flat wasn't exactly spacious, but he'd moved out as soon as he could, just to get away from his family, so it was there for efficiency, not space. Anyway, Andy had drank a few too many, and smoked something unidentified. He staggered around, finally finding the entrance where John stood. He'd seen John, and proceeded to fall forwards into his arms. John, ever the gentleman, caught him and chuckled valiantly.

"Y'alright, mate?" Andy laughed into his bicep, even his laugh sounded slurred.

"'Ja 'member... Hic... Prom? When you-hic... Schnogged mah face orf? Best... Kiss... Evaaar..." Yeah, so Andy was a little bit more than tipsy, and his voice was a bit more than slurred. Jade still managed to understand, and it was odd that she only felt relief... And a bit of guilt at the relief. Anyway, she ended what they had within the next five minutes. It sounds cruel, but they hadn't been working for a while before then, and it was simply am excuse, both of them being too nice to break up without a proper basis.

Jade left John in a darkened corner, so she could go and enjoy some stranger's lips. John sat and tried not to look too hard at anyone, when someone sat next to him where he was curled up on the floor. Now John may have been glad it was over, but that didn't mean he was going to be completly unemotional about it, so he sat in the corner and mourned what he believed could have been fixed, if they had put in the effort.

The room was smoky, and the haze made the dark room feel private. The person leaned into John's person space and whispered;

"You look like you could do with a drink..."

John's face split into a not entirely unwilling grin, and he turned to face the intruder. As john found out within the next 23 and a half minutes, his name was Frank. After 23 minutes and forty seconds, Frank pushed him onto his back on the floor and shimmied up his body, meeting his lips with a growl. John was momentarily stunned, before he realised he wanted this so much, not essentially this _with a man_, but this, the act of getting off, having his tongue shoved down someone else's throat. He groaned and decided he could throw this off as a drunken mistake. One of his legs rucked up on Frank's hip, and he used it as leverage to rut desperately against his hipbone. Frank was the only man he'd kissed that wasn't related to Andy, and John could feel the difference. While Andy and the brother tended to go straight in with aggression and pent-up frustration, Frank had a more teasing approach, dipping his tongue into John's mouth and retreating, giving him only hints of a taste before slipping out, making John whine.

Frank teased him relentlessly, tracing his lips with his tongue, before he finally gave in, and let go of all restrictions, thrusting into John, pressing their trapped arousals together, causing them to groan simultaneously. At the groan, however, Frank's boyfriend happened to notice that he was on the floor, on top of the highly esteemed 'straight' rugby captain. Naturally, he wasn't too happy, and proceeded to pull Frank off him. Unfortunately, the motion went too far, and Frank ended up sitting in the lap of his partner. John lay there, dazed and annoyed at the loss of heat when Frank started giggling. He looked at his partner and slurred;

"Dun't feel too good, does it? Was wundrin' when you'd 'ppear. Fookin great kisser tho..." At the last sentence he sent a lopsided grin in John's direction. John, who had just righted himself against the wall, was noting insignificancies. The smoke haze had thickened since John was last aware, and Frank was taking full advantage of it. He had twisted in the other man's arms and was kissing him, instead. John knew Frank tasted of him and felt a pang of sympathy for the other guy. And then it got more heated. John still hadn't moved, but the two sitting near to him had perked up a bit. He tried, desperately, not to oogle them, but his arousal had not faded from before, because damn, Frank was talented. Currently, Frank was treating the other man to some bites along his neck and collar bone. They were hardly being discreet about it, and John couldn't help but stare. When Frank started working lower, it took all John's self control not to start doing something he'd... Not exactly regret, but he'd certainly never live down. As it was, he had become uncomfortable a while ago, and right at that moment he was simply desperate to get out of there, away from temptation, being 17 and severely sexually frustrated, this was just the chance for release for him. But he was not raised to get off in the darkened corner of a party of a former admirer. Frank moaned 'Guhrard' or maybe it was 'Giraffe' and John attempted his escape. He stood up and moved through the smoke, and just his luck, there was Jade and Andy. He sighed; he was never going to hear the end of this. They were both wearing grins that would be more suited to clowns.

"Hmm... Didn' thin' Frank'd be your type?..." Andy, as usual, was plastered.

"He's not- I don't have a type. Not with men." Jade grinned at him, supposedly baring the untruth of the statement.

"Aha! Sure you don't," Jade was just on the wrong side of tipsy.

"Am I the only one who's not drunk?" John sounded vaguely disgusted, and as if to prove his point, Jade hiccupped.

"Yep." Andy shot him a grin that could have been a grimace.

"I'm not gay..." Andy just laughed at him, while Jade shot him a wink.

Welcome to the week after, when John started denying not only to himself and post-activity, bit pre-kiss, too. John was walking home, when a familiar face appeared from an alley.

"John?"

"Frank?"

Frank grinned, and John realised how very attractive he was, out of a dark, smoky room. As he got closer, he noticed flecks of eyeliner around Frank's eyes. John grinned, he'd heard and seen 'guyliner' on strangers but never on an... Acquaintance. That is, if acquaintance is spelt I-snogged-you-at-a-party-but-your-jealous-boyfriend-stopped-us-and-now-I'm-idiotically-sexually-frustrated. His grin, impossibly, grew in size as John approached. As soon as he was within reaching distance, Frank spun him into the alley, and pinned his arms above his head. He was shorter than John, and for some reason it was ridiculously hot. But John reminded himself, he didn't want this. This, random, unprecedented activities with a man. He wanted a steady, reliable girl. And then Frank flattened all his 4"9 against John, and traced the shell of his ear with his tongue. The shudder of pleasure that ran through his body was so forceful he almost threw Frank off.

"I'm not... Not gay."

Frank breathed a laugh in his ear.

"Keep telling yourself that..."

A tingle, that started at the place Frank had breathed on his ear made its way down his spine and settled in his groin. John tipped his head back, as it hit the wall he was delivered an unpleasant return to reality.

In an alley.

With a man.

With his hands pinned above his head.

With said man was currently attacking his neck.

As frustrated as he was, this was not going to happen.

He was John Watson and he did not shag in alleyways.

Much.

But definitely not with men.

He freed his arms and against his best wishes, pushed Frank away.

"I am not gay."

And he strode out of the alley, putting as much distance between him and one of the best snogs he would ever have.

And so began John's journey of self-denial, which would last until he met one Sherlock Holmes. But that's chapter five.

**A/N: Alright I wrote this on my phone and I DON'T KNOW I'm sorry okay  
um I don't know whether to put 'proper' smut in le final chapter  
eep  
help me  
To my wonderful reviewers- there will be an army event, worry not, and I shall make the army dude slightly more shy because Frank isn't really that timid :L**

**Oh also Frank is not an OC, I did say I have no imagination, he is **_**not the same guy**_** but an **_**interpretation**_** of a guy from my favourite band... I just used his appearance because damn that guy is stupidly good looking. Let me re-enforce I didn't use his personality or anything that he'd say just his looks okay I'm sorry**


	4. What happens in the army

What happens in the army, stays in the army.

Well, until someone like me comes along and ruins that streak by telling tales about old romances. Well, I say romances...

When John gained his intro he was in his late 20's. He didn't expect to be assigned into the front lines, but when he did it wasn't a huge surprise. When he told his family about the military, the reactions were... mixed. His father, ever the military man, was chuffed. His own son, becoming a high pressure army-surgeon. The most difficult army job that he had ever seen anyone perform. His mother was a mix of pride and grief. Although she had frowned upon favouritism, her son had always been the bright point of the family. His sister, however, had one thing to say. "Don't turn gay on me, little brother." Before patting him on the back and walking away. From Harry that was basically a declaration of love.

Upon gaining his station, rounds and rank, John gained a fair amount of respect incredibly quickly, for someone like him.

Anyway, if I'm honest, I don't know much about the army, how it's organised, but I do know by the time this part happened John was a Captain. And while the rank was not to be exploited, he did use it to his advantage. The sector he had been assigned to was one of the best, partly due to his 'meddling'. At current time, a few new people had been added to his sector. One, a slightly younger man by the name of Christopher was assigned, and while he was naturally fairly coy, he had the best shot John had seen in years. Chris had the uncanny ability to completely change his demeanour. One minute he'd be shying away from conversation on the many patrols they'd had, the next he'd be lying on his stomach, gun in front of him, steel and iron, unshakeable, picking off the threat one by one.

Until one day, the threat got him.

The rest of the patrol group pushed them back while John knelt and stitched the bullet wound in his arm. Just a graze, but serious nonetheless.

"You'll be out of action for one, maybe two weeks. It's on your forearm so you'll have no problem shooting once the skin's healed up. I'll need to check your stitches twice a day. Keep it clean. It gets infected; you're out of action indefinitely." He finished talking and flashed a small, warm smile. Chris gazed at him.

He knocked. And knocked again. And again. A voice from inside called him in. Chris stood there, only his camo trousers, fastened with a belt on. He smiled insipidly at John, turning away and reaching for his shirt.  
"Leave it off." John surprised himself by calling the words. He knew that Chris wasn't exactly ruler straight, and tension had been high due to the lack of female activity. John strode forwards, intending to check his stitches. He extended Chris's arm, and changed the dressing with clear, medical precision. And then he let his fingers trail up Chris's bare arm, lingering on his bicep.  
"Captain?"  
John pushed his arm back to his side and looked him straight in the eye. Chris stared, and blanched slightly at the ferocity in John's gaze.  
"You've got a good shot."  
Chris's eyes relocated to somewhere over John's shoulder while he tried to keep it together.  
"Thank you sir."  
His voice shook.  
"What was that?" John stepped forwards and drew himself up to his full (relatively small, compared to Chris) height.  
"Thank you, Sir."  
His voice didn't shake this time.  
John grinned. There was no tenderness in the expression. It was predatory, plain and simple.  
A shudder ran through Chris' body. John began stalking around him.  
"Sir, you have patrol again in five minutes."  
"That means I have five minutes, doesn't it?"  
Chris's usually benign expression clouded, and his eyes dilated. John watched this, and his face split into a grin.  
"Better."

Before pulling his head down to John's level, and moulding their lips together. There was nothing romantic or even sentimental about this, it was lust. Primal and simple, the build up of months, almost years without contact in this way. It was the raw urge to finally get someone else to bring a person to the climax. Unfortunately, for both of them, this would never happen. Anyway, let's live in the moment. Tongues frantically probed mouths, hips rocked in sync, hands pulled and fingernails scratched. Hot breath grew only hotter as it washed over the other's face. The noises were animalistic groans, begging for more. And then the five minutes were up, and John was leaving. He pulled away, his teeth scraping along Chris's bottom lip, and straightened his shirt. Chris's muscles rippled, and there were faint scratches along his arms. He was wonderfully debauched, and perfectly flustered. His eyes pointed at the floor, his chin at John, his auburn hair, in its military short style, everywhere.  
"Thank you, Sir."  
John grinned, again.  
"I'm not gay," he leaned in, and breathed into Chris's ear; "but I'd turn for you."  
Chris let out a small laugh. John turned away, to get to his patrol.

They took a new route that day.  
Their best shooter was down, sitting in his room, thinking about John. Their platoon was targeted. Two died, and three were injured. John watched one shot in the neck. The vertebrae split and severed the cord from the spine to the brain. He didn't last long. He watched a leg being torn off, and tried, and failed, to revive the man, as another had his knee shot in. The bone shattered, and the man crumpled. He survived, but it wasn't happy. He watched as a man got shot in the hand- the left hand. The force of the shot meant it was smashed off at the wrist. He survived, but it wasn't happy. Then he threw himself into saving them, and had shoulder torn open. As he bled out onto the ground, his last thoughts were of his blown chances with Chris.

He woke up a month later, his shoulder swathed with bandages. He couldn't stop thinking, every day he thought about the future, or lack thereof. At night the visions of his comrades getting shot haunted him, stopping him sleeping and preventing a good recovery. After a couple days there was an outbreak of fever, and by a stroke of misluck, John caught it.  
After months and months when he finally recovered, John was discharged. His hand wouldn't stop shaking, and his leg bore the memory of a man's kneecap smashing in, the blood flying onto his hands as he stitched the ragged flesh of another leg wound.  
The memory had imprinted itself onto John, and tricked him into thinking that the pain was his. He left with a tremor in his hand from memories and residual fever.

On his way back to London, John thought. He thought of everything and he thought of nothing. He couldn't go to Harry. He'd visited, once, and things were already out of his control. Everything was. She'd drank herself into a stupor. She'd initially done it to forget about him, risking his life for a cause that 'wasn't worth it' and once she'd done it and had a nice build up of rage over the years of John studying and training, she'd begun to blame him. He couldn't go back to her, the mixed anger and pity, mixed with self-loathing over Clara, it was all too much.  
She'd given him her phone.  
A reminder and a relief.  
A reminder for him to call, not fall out of touch because she's still his sister and she does care.  
A relief for her to not have the extra reminder of Clara.  
His psychiatrist did nothing. Nothing happened to him.

And then Sherlock Holmes, and his own personal revolution.

-m-M-m-

Chris got his new captain a week later.  
He was shot and killed, after being sent into a danger zone under bad authority.

**A/N: Um. Army thing, everyone. I was gonna make it smutty but I want Sherlock to be John's first time xD I'm sorry, darlings.  
Did you like? Meep, I don't really like this chapter3:  
But... Chapter 18 of How To Build A Heart Out Of Ashes appeared and I squealed.  
And then kind of bounced around for a while. And then read it. And then combusted of cute and spent the rest of the night metaphorically rolling around of fluff and all the pure perfection. Damn, I love that fic.**

**Next time shall be denial over Sheeerrrloooccckk because we all love a bit of sexual frustration;)  
Unless you wanted different...?  
Up to youuu! Review por favor**


	5. Look! There goes their heterosexuality

Look! There goes their heterosexuality...

No, um.  
Not quite yet.  
I need to tell you about Sherlock Holmes, first.

So, Sherlock Holmes didn't exactly have a great childhood. His brother was the great one, the older, more loved one. Sherlock was viewed by his mother as a sort of dead weight. Until the age of six, he was a regular genius child. Which, uh, doesn't make much sense but, then again, neither did Sherlock. He didn't talk until he was 4, and when he did he used fully structured sentences. He had been going to school since the age of four and a half, seen as his mother judged him ready, and was already years beyond his age. Once he had been there for two years, the problems started. His peers decided that they were past fascination with the child, and moved on to hate the strange boy that was two years younger and several years smarter. He was shunned. Now, as you can imagine, due to easily manipulated children, Sherlock had very few friends. The ones he had were also outcasts, and he used them for cover, to get away from his relentless bullies. When he went to his family for support, emotional and physical, the seven year gap caused Mycroft to push him away in preference of finishing his end of year revision. His mother preferred Mycroft, always had, and when Sherlock kicked up a fuss, she sent him away with a "not now, dear. Mycroft's revising."

High school was no different, he used the time to study and learn everything he could, not bothering to make friends, simply waiting for them to come to him. He studied the way people socialised from afar, and held onto the way their characters developed. He stayed alone, away from most human contact until the middle of year 8, where he was approached by a boy, asking to be his friend. Said boy was just as lonely as him, and they simply wanted each other for survival reasons. His chance to climb the popularity tree came at the end of year 11.

When his voice was breaking, he didn't talk for three weeks, instead allowing people to attempt to understand him without a voice. During his maturing phase, he retreated further into his shell, and when the thrift of hormones got too high he would emerge to shout at someone in Latin.

When he decided, at 15, that other people's opinions did not matter, he ditched his friends and went all out for his work, already contemplating career choices, screw mummy's choice. The downside of this decision was that people finally noticed. And it wasn't all negative. He had emerged from the dark woods of adolescence with six foot, two inches of pale, lanky, exotic beauty. His almond shaped eyes were an icy blue, morphing from grey to green along with his mood. His lips were full and luscious, oddly so for a male. His black, violet in the light, hair was neatly cut back from his face, exposing prominent cheekbones and a killer eyebrow quirk. All in all, he was stunning.

All in all, once women got him into their sight, they tended to be reluctant to let him out of it again.

While that reaction may have been positive, the jealousy-fuelled reactions of male friends of previously mentioned female admirers tended to be much more violent.

College passed in much the same way as high school, shunning attentions from females and embarking on a journey of self-discovery.

Post-college, his mother forced him away from the house to allow his brother to have enough space, time and quiet to continue working to get through Uni. He went to Germany, and stayed with his uncle, who taught him how to create a mind palace, and organise his thoughts accordingly. He taught Sherlock the science of deduction, and how best to improve on his way of thinking. Upon return to London, Sherlock took residence in the University dorms, away from his family. There, he met Sebastian, who would later come to work in a high paid job in a bank. Sebastian had a... Wide sexuality and Sherlock was on the radar. Upon meeting him, Sherlock deduced his sexuality, attraction to Sherlock, financial status and family troubles, the reason behind his open field of sexuality. Sebastian was impressed, to say the least. Aroused, to be short. He introduced Sherlock to the world of sexuality. Sherlock, who soon discovered he swung more to the side of other males. Sebastian showed Sherlock how to openly accept himself without drawing unnecessary attention. Namely, letting it out through Sebastian, who was more than happy with this arrangement. They, to put it very bluntly, fucked at every opportunity before Sherlock got bored of him, and turned to recreational drugs as a pastime.

At first it was tobacco. And then cocaine. When he was 28, he was forced into rehab by his brother. When he was 31 he met Greg Lestrade, and found a reason to live, through his work. At 36, John Watson turned up and his sexuality transformed from 'open' to 'straight as a roundabout'.

So now you know about Sherlock.

John Watson considered himself 'open' until Uni, and in the army. The rest of the time, call him gay and get a fist in your face. Unless you're Sherlock Holmes. So when they first met, Sherlock effectively dodged the question of sexuality, deflecting it onto John. At the time he considered himself married to his work. When John began working with Sherlock, everyone considered them together. Every time, John denied it. Well, he went through stages. Subliminal stages.

Indignation;  
"Well of course we'll be needing two!"

Anger;  
"We're not-! We're not a couple!"

Questioning;  
"Does anyone care that I'm not actually gay?"

Acceptance;  
" 'S yours a snorer?"  
"Got any crisps?"

-m-M-m-

"John?"  
"What?"  
"Case."  
"Alright," he smirked.

It was a simple open and shut murder with an annoying lack of evidence. Of course, Sherlock quickly saw the odd footprints that had hesitated, his and then ran.

Within hours the witness had been tracked down, and brought for questioning. The witness, Richard, was incredibly gay. After questioning, and affirmed by Sherlock, was free to go. However, he hung around for a while, to attempt to chat up Sherlock. He was getting quite far in his progress, hovering just inside Sherlock's space, and Sherlock, both starved for sex and the final information, for the case, when Sherlock started reacting positively. He leaned forward from his perch on the table and took Richard's arm, just above the wrist, exercising a strong grip and an alluring smirk. Richard grinned, his hips rolling forward, allowing his lower thighs to bump against Sherlock's knees. A smile formed on Sherlock's face, and he decided, if allowed, they would be going home together.

And then, the perfect mood killer;

"Sherlo-SHERLOCK!"

The usual co-ordinated, analytical expression fell over his face as he turned to John, Richard still part way between his legs.  
"Yes, John?"  
John stood in the hall, staring at the scene in front of him.  
"Sherlock, we're going home." His tone was final, and as he held up the half-empty pack of cigarettes that Sherlock had nabbed from, he sighed, in honest disappointment, and John's eyes widened. Richard sighed and pulled himself away.

"Good ones're always taken." He flashed an apologetic grin at John, pulled his jumper over his shoulder and made to walk away.  
"I'm- we're not- I mean-"  
"Hm?" Richard span round and looked like a male model with his jacket slung over his shoulder.  
"Together. I'm not gay."  
Richard huffed a laugh, nodded in exasperation, and stalked off, yelling over his shoulder;  
"Accept it, mate! It'll make your life so much easier."

John's arms fell back to his sides, and then lifted in a half- shrug gesture. Sherlock just shook his head at him.  
In the taxi back, they both tried desperately not to look at each other. Their thoughts, however, were all over each other.  
John couldn't deny the flash of jealousy he felt stabbing through him when he saw Richard pressed up against Sherlock.  
Sherlock couldn't deny the stab of arousal he felt when John stepped in, military posture intact.  
Both couldn't stop thinking about the new, close proximity to each other.  
When back in the flat, John addressed his main concern.

"So... Gay?"  
"Problem?" Sherlock's left eyebrow quirked.

"No, not... Not at all."

John nodded, rocked on his feet and headed for the shower, both of them knowing what he was going to go and try to mask with the sound of the shower.

John's acceptance goes like this;  
He realises basically all the men he has kissed pre- Sherlock, all look like him.  
He realises he's lusting after Sherlock.  
He's realises he's not Sherlock's type, I mean look at Richard.  
He resolves; he may be gay for his flatmate, but it's only lust. He can get over it.  
And then his plan gets torn into tiny pieces, and burnt in his flatmate/object of lust/best friend/consulting detective's Bunsen burner.

Sherlock appeared.

Within moments his back was pressed against the shower door, and the detective was pressed against his front. His right arm was fixed by Sherlock's hand, captured and pressed against the doorframe, and his left by the other large hand, pushed into the door against his side.

A pair of icy blue eyes met John's own hazel eyes.

"I could help you with that."

**A/N: review please, my beautiful readers. If you've made it this far; you're perfect and I love you  
work = _less writing time_ ****so I'll finish posting this and then while I have my lovely french exchange girl over I'll write more. lots lots more.** **wait= lots of** **new stuffs to read a.k.a. hapiness!  
Last chapter shall be up ssssoooooonnnnn  
**


	6. I'm gay I'm very, very gay

**A/N: I was going to post this two nights ago but then BAFTAs and too much work. Congratulations Andrew Scott and Steven Moffat! My tears were the perfect after party of the results of 'lead actor'  
also could people drop me a few fic recommendations? I have writers block and need to read some stuff! High school AU's are my favourite, but anything Mystrade and/or Johnlock would be perfection.  
haven't proof read or edited; I'm sorry!  
anyway; two day wait, 3k words!**

I'm gay. I'm very, very gay.

Right, I'll spare you the details.  
Well, other than that Sherlock came with John inside him, and John followed soon after.  
Lying in bed, wrapped up in each other still, floating on the post-orgasmic haze, John murmured;  
"If that's what being gay gets, then I'm gay. I'm very, very gay."  
Sherlock chuckled and they both slipped off into sleep. A week in, John and Sherlock are both extremely happy with the slightly dysfunctional domestic bliss, almost the same as it was before, except with more shagging. Well, they decided to 'come out' to their close friends, even though most close friends already knew about Sherlock's sexual orientation, (and kindly deigned not to tell John until he found out through Richard- who he needed to send thankful flowers to) the exercise was mostly for John's benefit. Sherlock agreed to go along with it because watching John struggle with words made him chuckle.

Lestrade

It's a crime scene.  
Screw it, they're giggling.

Anderson's novelty dinosaur shirt is blatantly visible beneath his blue forensics... Piece of plastic that barely qualifies as a suit.  
Sherlock pointed it out, and John's having a tough time not bursting out laughing at the brightly coloured stegosaurus every time Anderson tries to insult Sherlock- because his insults are even crapper than usual. Maybe it was the dinosaur saying 'You're great!' Plastered obnoxiously on his shirt that was killing the mood.

Anderson stalked off in a huff after Sherlock employed a subtle quip about prehistoric happenings, and John collapsed into Sherlock, but unfortunately, they seemed to be the only ones that had read the 'Rawr, means I love you in dinosaur; RAWR!" Written on the back of Anderson's frankly awful shirt. Lestrade stomped over and told them both to grow up. Both were so breathless that them growing up would have been more of a surprise than Anderson standing on a table and yelling to the world about secret (or not so secret) dinosaur fetishes. Although he might not need to yell judging by the looks Sally was giving him. The body was lying across the road, in a darkened alleyway, and Sherlock quickly rattled off his deductions. (Crime of passion, clothes suited to an outing with significant other. More for comfort and shielding of view. Make up subtle, barely there. Self confidence issues. Trying to appear less desirable. Breaking it off. Partner had anger issues, bruising on wrist, healed cuts on hands and face. Exercised complete lack of control upon partner before fleeing the scene.)

"So- obviously, you need to find her identity and it's her partner that's done this." Sherlock explained his deductions with wide, sweeping gestures, highlighting each area with points and mimics of motions, finishing with a small, triumphant grin. Lestrade, staring at the body, nodded as John reached towards Sherlock and engaged him in a fierce kiss. Lestrade, in spite of all his professional skills of observation, failed to notice until Sherlock let out a small moan. When he did notice, the mood became rather anti climatical. He coughed and they paused.

"Crime scene."

Sherlock extracted his tongue from John's mouth and coughed, nodded and tried to regain his dignity. Easier for John, whereas Sherlock's hair practically screamed 'sex hair'

And so Lestrade found out.

Mycroft

Sometimes, Sherlock could be incredibly inventive. Usually, these times were restricted to annoying Mycroft. Unsurprisingly, this was no different. He had orchestrated it down to a T, and unsurprisingly it was amazingly obnoxious and brilliant, as was much that Sherlock did. He started by taking John out to dinner. Well, John got home from the surgery to find a half-naked, uncharacteristically flamboyant Sherlock prancing round the kitchen. John coughed and he growled slightly.

"Late?"  
John held up the milk.  
Sherlock growled.  
"Suit on your bed. Put it on, we're leaving in five minutes."  
Always the romantic, John thought bitterly.

-m-M-m-

Okay so maybe he was more romantic. John's suit fit him more snugly than a glove, and he had to wonder when Sherlock had taken his measurements, because this was an accuracy that couldn't have been done with eyes only. Then Sherlock emerged and John forgot all his protests. His suit was... Indescribable. It was like a delectable appetiser; got you interested without giving away the full meal. It skimmed his body, and his shirt, a slightly darker, deeper and richer shade of blue than John's highlighted his eyes, making them appear much darker. The charcoal silk of the suit combined with the shirt and the white expanses of Sherlock's neck and face made his hair appear slightly indigo in the light. The waistcoat, one that dived down his stomach in an alluring curve, barely reaching 15cm at the centre, with tiny gold buttons that matched Sherlock's cufflinks. John remembered how to breathe and gave him another once-over, humming his approval. Sherlock looked up and his eyes darkened noticeably, and his eyes roved over John's body, picking him apart and undressing him mentally, he was sure.

"As much as I'd love to rip that off you stitch by stitch, we have a table booked in 20 minutes."

-m-M-m-

Previously mentioned 20 minutes later had found them arriving in a taxi- Sherlock's pay- to go to a high class restaurant on the other side of town. A small, secluded booth had been reserved for them. Lit by candlelight and low artificial lighting, the mood was subdued and romantic. All the way through the meal Sherlock spoke with him, surprisingly easily, about completely unrelated matters, e.g. their childhoods, siblings, parents and whatever caught their fancy. It was a welcome change from the high pressure and adrenaline of chases. As they were finishing, Sherlock decided to tell John the... Slightly need to know aspects of their meal.

"I used Mycroft's membership."  
John's eyes were wide and focused completely on Sherlock.  
"Does he..?"  
Sherlock shot him a grin, and as they left the restaurant the real informing of Sherlock's brother began.  
Of course, Sherlock was going to be dramatic, and this plan had been thought out thoroughly.

First, he texted Mycroft. Their location and 'security camera'.  
Then, he walked up to the closest one and winked.  
And began to run.  
Naturally, John followed him, and Mycroft was meant to think that his input could save them from a horrible ending or whatever goes through Mycroft's mind when he's being manipulative.

And the final step; Sherlock veered into an alley mouth, one with a camera pointing at it, and spun John out of the momentum of running and into his arms, where he proceeded to kiss him fully on the lips. Half submerged in shadow, it would take Mycroft a few minutes of staring before he realised what they were doing. Sherlock could almost hear the sniff of disdain as the camera moved to point at a wall. Sherlock laughed triumphantly.

"My brother has been informed." Was it even possible to look that smug with a grin that wide? Apparently, yes.  
"Great," John laughed, breathless from the run and the mind blowing kiss. Sherlock was still staring at the camera.  
"You know, my brother and Lestrade are incredibly hypocritical, considering they're shagging each other." It was said in a nonchalant matter of fact tone, causing John to splutter and push Sherlock slightly.  
"No, just stop there. Now are you going to finish what you started?" He fixed Sherlock with a stony expression and gestured down his body. Sherlock's eyes fixed on his groin and he grinned, a predatory grin, full of heat and merciless lust.

An hour later brought John and Sherlock lying in Sherlock's bed, sated and a tiny bit sore.  
"Who next?"  
"Molly."  
They both grinned.

Molly  
Well, this one was just cruel.  
A couple of days after, a case called them to the morgue, to see that body of a previous victim of a serial killer. After inspecting the body, Sherlock decided he'd do a few tests on data collected from it. So picture this, Sherlock bent over a microscope, Molly trying to collect more samples for a separate body she was working on, John standing to the side, texting his sister.

Molly kept glancing at Sherlock, trying to get his attention with a new haircut. Shorter, suited her. As always, Sherlock was completely immersed in what he was doing.  
"John."  
"Sherlock."  
"Phone." Accompanied with a muted roll of the eyes and a sigh from John.  
"Where?"  
"Pocket." Somewhere during this exchange, Molly tiptoed off to get something to aid with her experiment. As John neared Sherlock, he pulled the shorter man down and around, pinning him against the worktop.  
"Sherlock." A warning look. He only got a grin in return. John pulled himself free with a brief "Not on there." And stalked off to the raised slabs used for inspecting the post-mortems. He only got three seconds of sassily denying Sherlock, before he was pinned against an empty slab, instead. Six foot, two inches of detective pressed against his front and the rather delectable cupids bow was working on his neck. Between gasps, John managed to form a couple of coherent words.  
"Not... ah- ... no- Sherlock.. Not he- re... Not here." Instead of pulling away and giving him space and time to recover, Sherlock only dived back in and laughed against the skin of his neck.  
"Why on earth not?" His voice was a deep rumble in his chest, a laugh showing through the stern exterior.  
"Moll- Molly." He felt those lips- those evil lips quirk into a smirk against his pulse point.  
"I see no problem."  
"She- She'll come- come in here an- an- stop, Sherl-" until he was cut off by yet another gasp. Embarrassingly loud and it was, in fact, his own.  
Little did he know that said Molly was watching with wide eyes from the door. Desperately trying to avert her eyes, the poor girl was treated to an eyeful of John and Sherlock 'going at it'. (although 'poor isn't quite the right word.. more like lucky.)  
Sherlock continued to grind John into the table, lips slipping along his collarbone and teeth scraping along his chest. John finally decided it wasn't worth being caught, and caught Sherlock shoulder, hooked a leg around booth of his and collapsed him forward into the table, guiding his shoulders down into it, so he was face down on the slab, with John pressed along his shapely arse and back. Sherlock, surprisingly after being manhandled onto a slab used for dissecting dead people, moaned fairly loudly. John pushed him away with a sigh of "later" and Molly took this as her cue to enter again.  
"So you're... Together now?" Sherlock, unable to answer because he was staring at John, was answered for by previously mentioned object of appraisal.  
"Pretty much." John grinned.

In case you were wondering, the case was solved after John and Sherlock got home and Sherlock could concentrate. Meaning, when he didn't have the weight and distraction of his and John's nearly tangible sexual tension pressing on his mind. So it took a couple of hours while they 'resolved matters', but it happened.

Parents

John's parents guessed, what with Harry being less than straight, that John would give it a go, too. Eventually. Because of Harry's incessant problems that refused to let up, John had decided he would be the steadying influence in the house. Constant and reliable. Equating into ruler straight, hard working and logical. Although John's parents didn't know about his... Experiments, so to speak. More like impromptu snog fests, they still knew John, being as curious as he was, woukd not grow up ignorant of the pleasures of being with one's own gender. They did not, however, expect him to bring one home and pronounce him as 'boyfriend'. Certainly not one as exuberant as Sherlock Holmes. Although Harry did bring home her fair share of odd girlfriends. All in all, they were accepting of Sherlock, and glad that he'd got John to open up a tad more and leave the pressure on someone else.

Sherlock's parents were something else entirely. Although his mother was perfectly accepting of Mycroft, it was Mycroft and therefore to be expected. Mycroft could have said he'd been shagging horses and his mother would have congratulated him on his big city job. Anyway, Sherlock decided to go with Mycroft to one of her dinners, and bring John. Driving up the pathway to a mansion more than quadruple the size of John's fairly decent four bedroom childhood home, with grounds the size of several football fields, oh, and a lake, swimming pool and tennis courts, Sherlock decided to tell John he had 'forgotten' to come out to his mother. Although it didn't seem possible, John's mouth dropped wider.

"You forgot? As in you forgot the solar system?"  
"I may have... Avoided the subject. A small bit. But I'm telling her now!"  
John hissed air in through his teeth, and let it out in a sigh.  
"Fine. At least you're telling her." Sherlock glanced at John and smirked slightly.  
"I think Mycroft already informed her. After Lestrade and such." John just nodded, grateful for small mercies.  
"About us?"  
Sherlock snorted.  
"My brother enjoys my discomfort as much as he possibly can."  
It was John's turn to snort.  
"Sadist." Sherlock hummed in confirmation as they reached the house and John met the formidable mother for the first time. Surprisingly, she didn't bite his throat our, ash Sherlock had been expecting. Well, Mycroft and Lestrade were already at the manor, waiting for them, and Mrs. Holmes was... nowhere to be seen, surprisingly. They let themselves in and took residence in Sherlock's room, walking back downstairs, looking for the other two males in the house, they were met by Sherlock's mother.

"You must be John." A cold smile and extending of a hand. John raised it gently to his lips and Sherlock coughed.  
"Doctor, John Watson... my partner." Such a forward address was something Sherlock didn't do normally, but then again neither was the cold smile plastered on his face as he said the words.  
"Romantic?" Mrs. Holmes' eyes were fixed upon her son's.  
"Yes."  
Blunt and unoriginal, just like Sherlock. John smiled.  
And, the greatest shock of the evening so far, so did Mrs. Holmes. John felt Sherlock freeze beside him, but the smile looked open and honest. She turned her focused gaze upon John.  
"I'm glad, John. You've been a great influence on him. Lord knows I haven't been the greatest mother, but you straightened him from a much darker path. Thank you, and dinner is at eight."

She turned around and left, leaving John blinking, dumbfounded.  
"Lestrade... Cleaned you up..."  
Sherlock turned to him and pressed a kiss to his forehead.  
"But you stopped me wanted to shoot up. In all honesty, that went better than I could ever have hoped."  
John grinned at him.  
"Maybe Mycroft won't ruin this weekend for us."The words were accompanied with a slight tip of the head, as if to say 'as if he wouldn't ruin it'  
As if, indeed.

Mrs. Hudson + surprise guest.

Breaking it to their lovely landlady had been planned as much sweeter than the rest of the breakthroughs. While the others had been shocking full on snogging, they had planned to simply go out to coffee with the lady, and when bringing over the coffees, Sherlock would drop a kiss to John's cheek. But the plans didn't always go completely right. Such as this time.

They went to the coffee shop, planning on having a nice peaceful time, and it started off that way. Sherlock's chair was slightly too close to John's to be considered normal friends. The barista had flirted with Sherlock under the pretence of bringing them coffee, hence eradicating the earlier plan. That wasn't the bad part, it was just a simple flaw. When Sherlock moved in for a quick press of lips a second time, John was frozen, staring out the window. Or, more accurately, tracing the progress of the person walking past, and into the shop.

"Sherlock." John's voice was a hiss and his eyes were wide and slightly terrified.

"It's Andy."

Andy was the one lucky guy that John remembered from high school. He had barely changed, and the name tag hanging from his breast pocket bore his full name. Sherlock's eyes flicked up to him and he snorted.

"Nurse, three romantic relations, two of which one night stands attempting to make his partner jealous... All of which are men. Mother supplies extra money to keep him in Uni despite obviousness of him drinking his way through all their liquor and moving out. Trying to reconcile with him." John rolled his eyes and shrank into the seat, trying to become invisible. Sherlock dropped a kiss on his cheek. Mrs. Hudson smiled and opened her mouth to say something, but before she could;

"John! John Watson? I haven't seen you in years!" Because of course, after being his admirer for five years, Andy wasn't about to forget John. (All of his romantic relations had at least a vague resemblance to him. Andy's crush never really faded, but Andy didn't notice he was doing it. He found his Mr. Right three days later. In Tesco.)

"Hi, Andy was it?" Sherlock snorted. Andy didn't notice, too caught up with John.

"Yeah! You remember me? Wow! You're looking great!" Appreciative eyes roamed John's body.

"Still straight?" John nearly jumped from the abrupt question, but Mrs. Hudson saved him.

"Sorry, Andy? Andy, dear, we have to go and meet dear Sherlock's brother now." And she began leading them out. John smiled a goodbye to Andy who stared helplessly at him. Once outside, Sherlock and John glanced at each other.

"He looked a bit like me." John glanced back into the cafe, where Andy was still standing.  
"Jealous?"  
And then the giggles stared. Sherlock pulled John into his arms, pressing his lips against the shorter man's.

"Unbearably." The muted giggles continued for about an hour afterwards. Every glance between them brought on another wave. Neither knew why it was so funny, but Andy's 'I will stand here and impersonate a goldfish until someone comes and picks my jaw of the floor' impersonation after they kissed might have been in the equation.

So that's the story of how John told everybody that he was, is and always shall be, gay for Sherlock Holmes.  
It could also be called 'How John Watson ruined his life's work of labelling himself as straight,'  
or 'Make an ass of yourself, John Watson style'  
Call it whatever you want, it was John and Sherlock. And they were happy.


End file.
